


better left unsaid

by wilderswans



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: BDSM, Biting, M/M, Post-Canon, Rope Bondage, The only way they can be soft is by being nasty sorry, They are Not Kind in this, Topping from the Bottom, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Verbal Humiliation, kind of?, weaponized tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 18:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilderswans/pseuds/wilderswans
Summary: He sets his wineglass and his book on the upended crate serving as a bedside table for now, and deigns to give the former Count of Vesuvia a glance.(post-canon for Nadia's route.)





	better left unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the Julian's Neepnop Room/Julian's Beepis Room/The Smol/Tol Advocacy Network/Government Mandated Fursona/FUCK YOU, GOATMAN chat. I love you all. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated more than I can say. ♥♥

The crumbling grandeur of a manor once in good repair, sagging quietly on Vesuvia’s border. The still of night, flooded with stars that were never visible from the city, scores of them glittering in a sky like velvet - perhaps the only riches available to them now, the two men in the manor who have had it all and lost it and yet, somehow, are managing to build themselves something better. 

 

Valerius glances up from the water-stained page of his book at a particularly pathetic noise from the foot of the bed. Strange, he thinks, how different his life is now, and yet how some things never change. He sets his wineglass and his book on the upended crate serving as a bedside table for now, and deigns to give the former Count of Vesuvia a glance. 

 

When their eyes meet, Lucio’s impatience gets the better of him. He begins struggling against the silken ropes. It’s all in vain. Valerius watches placidly as Lucio yanks against the knots binding his hands to the posts of the bed, unstirred even by the noises he makes - pleas, surely - muffled by the linen smallclothes, now soaked with saliva, shoved into his mouth. 

 

Lucio’s eyes meet his. The moment stretches between them, and for a moment Valerius thinks about being kind, showing some pity. Lucio is so aroused it looks painful, cock red and leaking between his thighs, but Valerius is careful to only look pointedly at it like he’s examining something mysterious and possibly distasteful stuck to the bottom of his boot. When his gaze drifts back up to Lucio’s face, there’s a distinct edge to his glare. Perhaps even the threat of violence or some other relevant nastiness. 

 

Valerius has to try very hard not to smile. Lucio has no authority - not like this, not in general. When Lucio’s glare doesn’t get the reaction he wants, like a toddler throwing a tantrum, he strains against the bonds again. 

 

_ You’re fighting very hard against something you all but asked for _ , Valerius thinks. Out loud, he says, “You’d best stop pulling like that. I’m not putting your wrists back in place if you dislocate them.” 

 

That only gets a renewed effort at trying to break the bonds. The bedpost the gold arm is tied to starts to creak loudly enough to be worrying, but when Valerius arches an eyebrow Lucio’s arms go limp. 

 

“Good boy,” Valerius says. Games aside, they both know how furious Valerius would be if Lucio managed to break the one unbroken piece of furniture in the entire fucking winery. That doesn’t prevent Lucio’s eyes from widening, and a fresh stream of muffled oaths to come pouring out of that gagged mouth.

 

Still, Lucio had demonstrated some foresight, some thinking of their situation outside of what  _ he _ wants. Valerius did not want him to break the bed; Lucio stopped his efforts to break it. Valerius, ignoring the way he’s still being cursed out, figures that he deserves a reward for that.

 

He shifts to pull a little bottle, half-filled with oil, from behind the overturned crate. The light in the room is dim from the single lamp, but the moment Lucio realizes what’s in Valerius’ hand he goes utterly still and silent. 

 

Valerius gives him a sidelong, assessing gaze, and leans to pluck the spit-soaked smallclothes from Lucio’s mouth. He tosses them to the side of the bed, where they land with an unpleasant smack on the hardwood floor. He’ll make Lucio clean them up later.

 

“Hey,” Lucio whines. He watches Valerius sit back against the lumpy pillows at the head of the bed, gaze lingering overlong at the flash of skin where Valerius’ robe is slipping off of his shoulder. “Hey, what the fuck, I’ve been sitting here for so long -”

 

“You’ll sit there longer,” Valerius says, slicking two fingers. That gets another half-hearted struggle from Lucio, and another threatening creak from the overtaxed wood, which makes Valerius halt what he’s doing. 

 

He says nothing. Instead, he lets the twist of his mouth speak for him when he draws the robe up his thighs, feeling his flesh prickle as it’s exposed to the chilly air. 

 

Before it gets too much colder, he realizes, they need to repair the chimneys, which are toppling down brick by brick. For now, there’s nothing to be done. He bites his lower lip, bracing himself against the cold, before he fully divests himself of the silken robe, the one remnant of unabashed luxury he has. 

 

He feels more than sees Lucio’s eyes on him, but the former count hasn’t said anything. Good, Valerius thinks, and cants his hips upward. Let Lucio see everything. Let him  _ want _ . 

 

He reaches between his thighs and breaches himself with a single, slick finger, and is gratified to hear the punched-out exhale from the other end of the bed. Letting his eyes slip closed, Valerius stretches out one leg and braces the other on the mattress, exposing himself. He can hear the creak of straining ropes. Lucio must be pulling towards him, impatient as always.

 

Leisurely he pumps the single finger in and out, ignoring his own steadily-growing arousal, all the while feeling Lucio’s eyes fixed on him. Before long he withdraws completely.

 

The noise that Lucio makes when he pushes back in with three slippery fingers is - he hisses a slow exhale, pushing himself past the edge of discomfort and the barest hint of pain. The slick is starting to drip down the apex of his thighs towards their sheets; he can hear obscene sounds as he withdraws his fingers before thrusting back in. He’s careful to avoid that particular spot within him. As nice as it would be to bring himself off with Lucio watching, unable to do anything about it, he doesn’t want this game to be spoiled too soon.

 

He lets himself slip down from his throne of pillows, closer to Lucio’s body. Cracking one eye open, he can see the former count’s hands clenching and unclenching within the confines of the red rope. 

 

The realization of how badly Lucio wants him settles over him like a physical weight, pinning him to the mattress. He lets himself choke out a moan, hand speeding despite the awkward angle of fingering himself. 

 

“Fuck you,” Lucio says, pulling against the ropes. “ _ Fuck _ you, Valerius, I want -”

 

“Keep that up and you won’t get anything,” Valerius says. To demonstrate, he crooks a finger and deliberately presses against the spot he’s avoiding, unable to hold back the gasp of pleasure as white sparks explode behind his eyelids. “Why do you think you deserve anything?” he presses. If he’s just the slightest bit out of breath, if his authoritative drawl sags, neither of them say anything. “Tell me, Lucio. How do you deserve the things you so badly  _ want _ ?” 

 

Lucio lets out a frustrated groan, letting his head hang. He’s biting his lip. Even with three fingers in his body and his dick now fully erect, a constant throb between his legs, Valerius can almost see the strands of the web of desire woven around Lucio.

 

Nadia (and it’s astounding that his erection doesn’t wilt at the thought) has exiled Lucio completely, and placed his own self under house arrest. She and her wife are not women that Valerius wants to try, so it’s against his better judgment that Valerius is out here in the country, overseeing a vineyard that hasn’t yet born fruit. And against his sense of self-preservation, he took in the former count when Lucio inevitably came slinking up to his door. 

 

But somehow - Valerius doesn’t know quite how this happened, some alchemy of sun and soil and the green magic of grapevines curling tender and full of promise around the trellises they were trained onto - he can almost feel something else new and strange growing within his own chest, and sees it mirrored in Lucio, but only when the former count doesn’t think he’s looking. When Lucio kisses him over a budding trellis, as the sun is starting to set and the nightingales starting to sing in the trees just beyond the vineyard, he can almost taste honesty on Lucio’s lips.

 

The creeping sense of tenderness makes his skin crawl. He pumps his fingers in and out for a few moments, letting himself acclimate to the feeling of fullness and enjoying the renewed whining noises Lucio is making. 

 

“Come on,” the former count is saying, trying for an air of imperiousness. The effect is ruined by the beads of precum dribbling down from the flushed head of his cock and the earnestness in his gaze. “Come on, Val, just let me -” 

 

Valerius closes his eyes and moves his extended leg, foot in a graceful arch, move from the mattress up to Lucio’s face, toes coming to rest on his lips. It strains the back of his thigh, but the way Lucio hushes is worth it. 

 

“Shut up,” he says.

 

“Mngh,” Lucio says. 

 

Feeling triumphant, Valerius drops his leg and angles his fingers, hitting the spot a few more times. He doesn’t hold back the moan, nor the soft exhale of Lucio’s name.

 

For a moment, the air between them goes still. Lucio doesn’t pull against his bonds; Valerius stills the motion of his hand. He swallows, unable to ignore the way his blood is racing when he sees Lucio’s eyes fixed to the place where Valerius’ fingers breach his own body.

 

“What do you want,” Valerius murmurs at last. He extends his leg again, but rests the ball of his foot on Lucio’s shoulder. His skin prickles again when Lucio angles his head to kiss the bony ankle, then the tender flesh on the inner curve of his foot. 

 

“What kind of fucking question is that.” Lucio stops his kisses long enough to meet Valerius’ gaze. 

 

“No.” Valerius mashes his toes into Lucio’s face. “What do you  _ want _ , Lucio.” 

 

The way he says it doesn’t make it a question. 

 

Lucio scoffs, trying to dodge Valerius’ toes trying to push into his face. “Isn’t it obvious?” he says. His tone is nasty, full Count of Vesuvia in his heyday. He could just as easily be harassing servants or ordering the death of a gladiator. “I want my  _ throne _ . I want Vesuvia. I want the Coliseum, the Masquerade, the entire city, I want -”

 

Valerius withdraws his foot. He withdraws his fingers from himself. He moves closer to Lucio on bent knees, and catches the former Count’s face with his clean fingers, holding firm when Lucio cranes his neck to try and bite him, the motherfucker. 

 

“Don’t,” Valerius says, “fucking  _ lie to me _ .” 

 

As he says this he’s clambering into Lucio’s lap. He reaches behind him to finally, finally touch the hot flesh of Lucio’s cock, appreciating the bit-off groan that Lucio gives at the contact. He holds himself above it, feeling himself trembling at the exertion. 

 

“What do you want,” he says again. Lucio’s skin is warm in Valerius’ grasp. 

 

“To be Count,” Lucio hisses. “What I deserve. I want that.” 

 

He makes an aborted movement with his hips, trying to thrust up against Valerius. How tiresome.

 

“ _ Liar _ ,” Valerius says, voice low. He doesn’t allow Lucio to touch him, save for the hot places where his fingers grip Lucio’s face. They both know better. Lucio is just wasting time bullshitting him, and he’s beginning to lose patience. He will never let Lucio know that, however, so he digs his fingers in and lays his lips close to the shell of Lucio’s ear.

 

“Tell me what you  _ want _ ,” he says. “Or you get  _ nothing _ .”

 

For several long seconds, Lucio says nothing. His head sags between his outstretched arms, the gold arm still gleaming dully in the light of the single lantern. Valerius means it; he’s still holding himself away from Lucio, but just close enough that the man under him can feel the heat of his body and the brush of his thighs.

 

It drags on long enough that Valerius thinks Lucio won’t say anything, stubborn enough to destroy them both with desire. He’s about to pull away, ready to bring himself off just beyond Lucio’ grasp, when the former count inhales. His eyes are closed. 

 

“I want - I want this,” he says, voice a harsh whisper. As if Valerius won’t hear it, won’t commit the words to memory if he’s quiet enough. He clenches his fists. When he speaks again, it’s steadier. “I want  _ this _ .” 

 

“What about this?” Valerius asks. Humility was never his strongest virtue, but he thinks in this instance, he can be forgiven this little vice. “Tell me, Lucio.”

 

“I want -” Lucio breaks off, sounding wretched. “I want  _ this _ , Valerius, I want  _ you _ -” 

 

“You have always wanted me,” Valerius says, with a touch of cruelty in his voice, even as his blood runs hot. “Even when you were married.” 

 

“I did,” Lucio groans. His head lolls back. Valerius can see his pupils blown wide, can feel how hot his skin is. “Come on, let me -”

 

“No,” Valerius growls, fingers digging in. He will have the whole truth from Lucio, or nothing at all. “Go on, Lucio. Tell me what else you want.” 

 

Lucio’s face screws up, like he’s caught up in some internal war. It’s so delicious Valerius almost forgets himself. He drags Lucio’s earlobe between his teeth, biting into the tender flesh until Lucio cracks beneath him. 

 

“I want this,” he moans, helpless. “I want this stupid winery and I want this horrible bed and I want you -”

 

“How do you want me?” Valerius presses, releasing Lucio’s face so he can dig his fingers into his shoulders. 

 

“I -” Lucio inhales, and the breath is surprisingly shaky. “I - I want to come  _ home _ to you,” and that’s so unexpected Valerius can’t help the ragged gasp that punches out of him. “I want to come home to you, I want - I want to eat dinner with you, and fall asleep next to you -”

 

His words falter, stuttering to a halt when Valerius grinds against him, then pauses long enough to hold the head of his cock still against Valerius’ hole. When Valerius sinks down, wincing against the burning breach, Lucio groans long and low against his shoulder and it’s - it’s the most honest thing Valerius has ever heard from him. Despite the preparation and the slick glide of the oil it burns, but something about it is right, is perfect. 

 

Valerius sinks onto his cock, fingers digging into Lucio’s shoulders, exhaling shakily through his nose until he’s fully seated. When it’s fully seated within him, he sits back, feeling the strain in his thigh muscles and the damp heat of Lucio’s breath against him. 

 

“What else,” Valerius murmurs against him. There’s a possibility he’s forgetting himself, holding Lucio like this and letting his hips move in the barest of grinding circles. “What  _ else, _ Lucio?” 

 

Instead of answering, Lucio stops pressing open-mouthed kisses against the juncture of Valerius’ neck and shoulder, and sinks his teeth into the yielding flesh instead. Valerius yells against the pain, feeling his skin break under the onslaught. He catches Lucio’s jaw with one hand, prying his fingers into his open mouth and forcing the jaws apart, curling his fingertips into Lucio’s mouth and into the tender flesh beneath his tongue. 

 

“Pathetic,” he hisses, even as his chest grows warm. He can feel blood welling up from the bite mark on his neck, can feel the uncomfortable itch of it cooling. Lucio’s words strike some chord hidden deep within him and they make him overturned and horribly vulnerable, even though he wanted to hear him. “Do you think you - you of all people deserve -”

 

Lucio can’t answer with Valerius’ fingers shoved into his mouth but the look he levels at him is too knowing. Valerius - he doesn’t let himself imagine such tenderness. He doesn’t let the parts of him that have been raw and wanting since his foray into the Hierophant’s realm curl into the thought of being secure and safe in someone’s arms. 

 

He knows he wants it. He knows Lucio wants it too.

 

He withdraws his fingers from Lucio’s mouth and pulls him into a biting kiss before Lucio can say anything stupid. At the same time, he lifts his hips before driving back down, setting a brutal pace that leaves Lucio groaning into his mouth and thrusting up against him.

 

It doesn’t last too much longer, after that. Valerius’ arms wrap around Lucio’s shoulders, tangling hands in his hair, driving himself faster and faster into the sense of fullness, into the sweet burning stretch. Lucio sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites down, worrying it between his teeth until it’s painful, but when Valerius lets slip a wounded noise he releases him and softly licks across his mouth, almost soothing, until Valerius yields. 

 

The way Lucio’s tongue sweeps into his mouth is almost sweet. It makes him want to spit. It makes him want to beg for more.

 

Valerius comes with a shuddering sob of relief, rubbing himself against the hard muscle of Lucio’s abdomen. Even as he goes soft, growing flighty and shivering with overstimulation he works Lucio’s cock until the other man gives a heartfelt groan into his mouth, hips crashing up in one final surge against Valerius before he, too, comes. Valerius can feel the throbbing of him where they’re joined, can almost feel the too-telling beat of his heart as they both try to catch their breath.

 

It’s a few moments before he’s able to reach out a hand and pull at the ropes lashed to the bedposts, clumsy fingers searching out the hidden workings of the knots. When they loosen, Lucio’s able to pull free and start to undo the ties around his wrists. His fingers are slow. 

 

Valerius lifts himself off of Lucio’s softening cock with a wince. The feeling of wet heat dripping out of him is mortifying, distasteful. He wants to clamp his legs shut around it, never let Lucio see or know this horrifyingly intimate feeling. 

 

Instead, he pulls Lucio’s flesh arm to him and starts pulling off the rope himself. His pale flesh is deeply scored with the rope’s impression. Valerius catches his wrist before he can pull away and starts kneading in an attempt to work blood and feeling back into the neglected limb.

 

Lucio tilts his head, examining him while he works. When he releases the flesh hand to start working on Lucio’s right shoulder, sure to be sore from the angle it’s been bent at for more than an hour, Lucio brings warm fingers to trace down Valerius’ hip. He cups his ass, almost proprietary, in a way that makes Valerius want to smack him. 

 

But he remains quiet, the entire time Valerius is massaging sensation back into his stupid shoulder. That’s a change, and a refreshing one. Valerius is acutely aware they’ve crossed some sort of boundary, into territory that’s new to both of them. 

 

Perhaps he shouldn’t have gone prying at the tenderness lying beneath Lucio’s exterior. Or his own, for that matter. It was so much safer to be barbed, to share his bed with Lucio with the mutual acknowledgement he could bite or snap or scowl and shove Lucio out any time he pleased. 

 

Lucio brings clawed golden fingers up to trace Valerius’ cheek. He shudders involuntarily. The arm is a work of art; an alchemical masterpiece. When did he start seeing it as such, instead of the monstrosity he thought it had been?

 

Wanting had never factored into the equation before. Before, Valerius was saying those things to be nasty. Maybe. To expose the quivering tender bits of a proud and horrid man brought low by his own choices. Those things he said were never meant to backfire like this, to culminate in his heart pounding as Lucio strokes his cheek like he’s something precious. 

 

Valerius closes his eyes, pressing his face into the golden palm. 

 

They’ll fall asleep in this crumbling manor, in this bed that’s the only unbroken piece of furniture in the entire estate. Tomorrow, they’ll wake up, and it’ll be something new that they’re building.

 

Together.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell with me on twitter @wilderswans!


End file.
